


Dialects

by SilverHounds



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Languages, One Shot, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverHounds/pseuds/SilverHounds
Summary: Bucky knows languages. He knows how they work and he knows an awful lot of them, but one thing he would never admit is that he has a favorite.





	Dialects

When Bucky had first been introduced into the Avengers facility, first been among the team and involved with them, he slipped into Russian accidentally. It was so easy and mindless that he didn’t even notice often until someone pointed it out— there used to be days where he couldn’t even form English around his tongue and it got stuck in this throat instead.

Those were the days when Bucky didn’t want to get out of bed. His regret and shame were so heavy that they pressed him into the mattress, digging into him like the claws of a predator that was about to eat it’s victim alive. He couldn’t stomach any food and Steve would have to pick the lock to his bedroom and bring him something to eat. if he couldn’t, Stevie would be stuck on the other side of the door, murmuring reassurances and comforting promises to Bucky in a dialect that didn’t have any meaning in his brainwashed mind.

But days such as that had become so wonderfully rare since Bucky met Erin. She was like a soothing balm for his old wounds that had been opened and stitched back together again so many times, a drug that got him blissfully out of it and he didn’t mind one bit. She made his worst days a little bit better and his best days even better, but the languages remained nonetheless. They crowded his head, waiting for him to use them— Russian, Urdu, Mandarin, Polish, Hindi— the list went on and on.

He liked the way each of them felt coming off his tongue, the tiny movements and motions that made up his speech. Bucky’s mouth just fit around them so effortlessly, like each language was made specifically for him, crafted and molded ideally to fit him. Words were power. They were exciting and thrilling and he couldn’t help but want to learn more, to know as many words as he could. 

Steve’s language had always come easiest to him, maybe because of their history, maybe because the two just always came together that easily— but either way, Bucky knew all the ins and outs of his language. The nuances and subtleties were laid out for him and he got them like he got the man himself, not as Captain America, but as his friend, Steve, the skinny boy from Brooklyn who never knew how to give in or give up. It was a fiery language that spoke of nostalgia and times that had been forgotten, but once the flames stopped burning, it seemed more to Bucky like the ashes of something precious.

Steve could be gentle, and most of the time, he was more like the ashes, but he didn’t doubt that Steve was a soldier. He’d been through a lot and was now searching for a resting place where Steve could lay down his doubts and his fears and all of his longing.

Thor’s language was bold and bright. Like thunder that lashed out across a darkened sky fraught with stormy weather, he could be comforting but also commanding. Whenever Bucky spoke the same language as him, he felt like he could walk into a room and take up all the space inside it. It snatched up all of the insecurities inside of him and left him with not even an inkling of doubt. It was the spoken language of a leader, a prince. 

Ava spoke a language that reminded Bucky of wartime. It tasted like blood and steel and left him feeling bitter and unfulfilled. She carried it with her and gave him and possibly everyone the impression that everything was a battle for her. Ava’s war had never ended, not like his had. Everything was a fight for her, even the smallest affairs and her language helped her become a weapon that never snapped no matter how hard she was hit or which direction she was bent in.

Tony’s speech reminded Bucky of Arabic or Chinese. It was pretty at first glance, but another, second look at his language would reveal an entire layer of double meanings. He never simply came out and said what he meant, as if he was too afraid to blatantly expose his intentions. Bucky couldn’t speak his language without a sharp mind that was constantly ready to decipher the witty phrases that Tony threw in the direction of anyone who’d listen. 

His was befitting of a genius who liked to pretend that he didn’t give a damn, because he really cared too much and was scared they’d all use it against him.

Natasha was equally as confusing. Half the time, Bucky wasn’t sure that he had said the right things or if there even was a right answer to those questions she put out, without fail, all the time. Every tilt of her head, every small arm movement, every quick glance was asking questions that had no answers. Who am I? Why am I here? What do you want from me? What do you expect?

She changed so fast and switched masks enough that none of them noticed she did it sometimes, but Bucky was aware that she did it because she was uncertain. Natasha wouldn’t stop asking. She was a former spy alone in a world of superheroes, enhanced soldiers and gods and could only just hope she’d find her place somehow, someday.

On the other hand, Clint’s language never changed. It was the same, physical and striking and warm, because for an archer, he wanted to be oddly close to all of the other Avengers. But Bucky didn’t mind. Those subtle brushes against whoever was nearby and the times when Clint leaned on them with the excuse that he couldn’t keep his balance because of the rumbling floor of the quinjet or some other random thing were welcomed. 

Bruce’s was hard to learn for a mind such as Bucky’s that was used to being addressed with outright demands and orders that he had no choice but to obey. There was no word for anger in his language. It tasted like fear and a little bit like loneliness and made him want to shake the man until he let go of at least some of his restraint. Bruce touched everything lightly, making sure that he never leave a mark lest he break it and even Bucky felt as delicate as glass in his presence.

Wanda spoke a language so quiet that she could barely be heard, even there was no sound anywhere around her. She was tentative and hesitant, all soft lines and gentle smiles if she could manage to muster up one to begin with. Bucky knew that it would take time to learn hers, but he had underestimated. It cost hours of sitting alone with her before he began to catch on, and all of that time was worth it even if he was never—would never become fluent in Wanda’s language with all of it’s whispered sounds.

Vision’s language was like him, indescribable and impossible to figure out. He was never quite human and never quite robotic, and Bucky found himself in that middle area where he thought he knew, but he wasn’t sure if he actually did. He never knew where the line in the sand was with Vision, not sure if he was too far away or overstepping. He was frustrated and yet intrigued by the android’s language that appeared to be ungraspable by anybody but Vision himself who had created it.

Although he spoke to every one of them, wanting to understand, to compherend, Bucky had to admit that he was biased. He was a speaker of many languages, but there was a single dialect that had captured his attention from the first syllable. Erin made everything sound like a promise, a promise of security and safety. She made it clear that she cared and even during the moments when she held back, troubled by the fear that it made her weak, Bucky could tell what her true feelings were. She was never able to feign carelessness as well as him.

She gave him reassurances whether he needed them or not, though he did most of the time. There was no guessing when it came to Erin, no questions left unanswered or things that were misunderstood. They seemed to speak in the same manner without trying to, him telling Erin whatever he wanted and having a response given right back to him in the same tone, the same language, the same dialect— the same everything.

Bucky loved her language the most.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based on a roleplay I have with a friend on another site. Erin isn’t actually my character. She’s the brilliant creation of my RP buddy, and I love her so much that I had to write for her! All credit goes to my friend, as I said, Erin isn’t my OC. I was a bit nervous writing this, but I hope that if you’ve made it this far, that you enjoyed the oneshot!


End file.
